


Dance With A Ghost

by addictedkitten



Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-05
Updated: 2009-08-05
Packaged: 2017-10-31 05:22:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/addictedkitten/pseuds/addictedkitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>2009 future canon.  <i>Kiss me and tell me it's not broken.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance With A Ghost

After a few glasses of champagne the party doesn't seem so bad, the bright lights softened by Brendon's fizzy vision and the mask starting to feel like part of his skin. He's not quite intoxicated enough to press his cheek to the glass of the fish tank, but he's warm enough to want to, and alone enough to grasp for companionship with the brightly-colored tropical fish in the probably very expensive tank. Brendon looks through blue water and thinks about comfortable couches and snuggling with long-limbed boys while watching the Red Curtain Trilogy on rainy days, and he smiles, he has enough distance to smile at the memory. 

A tiny grey shark swims by and pair of eyes meet Brendon's in the wake of it; Brendon startles up, the action mirrored by a mask contrasting with his own, cheap glittering gold to his curlicued black. He stares through the water and coral and swaying seaweed and the boy on the other side blinks back at him, light brown eyes and a familiar curve of lips, a face he'd know anywhere even at a masquerade. He wonders if he's dreaming, if he's dreamed this Halloween masquerade in this almost too-beautiful hotel, if he'll wake up and he won't be alone in bed, Ryan will be beside him instead of on the opposite side of the glass.

He parts his lips to speak and then there's a hand on his shoulder, Spencer wheeling him around and pushing another glass of champagne into his hand. "Hey," Spencer says, "you're not bored are you?"

It takes Brendon a second to come back to Earth, and when he does look back Ryan's vanished like he was never there at all. "Not bored," Brendon manages. He takes a swill of champagne to cool his throat, and Spencer claps him on the shoulder and clinks their glasses together.

"Had any mysterious strangers sweep you off your feet yet?" Spencer asks. He takes a look around the room, the light catching on the white curves of his mask, accented with funny little cherubs Spencer had taken a shine to. 

"Nope," Brendon says, and finishes his glass in one long swallow. "You'll have to do," he tells Spencer, and circles Spencer's wrist with his fingers, pulling him toward the dance floor. 

Spencer laughs but takes to it easily enough, letting Brendon twirl him in the crush, then taking the lead when Brendon grins and bats his eyelashes. 

"There's no one else we know here, is there?" Brendon asks, eyes on the edges of the crowd and looking out for a head full of curls, a gold glitter mask. A pretty girl catches his eye, but she's looking at Spencer, coming toward them, and beyond her Brendon sees a flash of gold, follows a familiar form stalking along the room's edge. 

He releases Spencer into the girl's attention as Spencer answers, "Only friends we haven't met yet," and greets the girl, and Brendon waves over his shoulder as he goes after the guy he's sometimes wished he never met at all.

Ryan must have crashed the party, meaning Jon's probably around here somewhere too, and maybe Eric or Alex. Brendon thinks he should have said something to Spencer, warned him, but there's a tiny part of him that thinks, wants to think that it's just a strange resemblance, that he's imagined it all. It's been a few months since Brendon's seen them, him; this could just be some random boy he's chasing, maybe even someone he could have for the night through a fog of champagne, through half-closed eyes. 

Brendon pushes through the crowd of masked faces and warm bodies, and the music swells above the sounds of revelry and spreads to the gilded ceilings, shakes the flowers clustered in bouquets. Brendon brushes shoulders and murmurs apologies and focuses on the boy in front of him who's walking away until he isn't anymore, and Brendon's fingers curl in Ryan's jacket sleeve, and Ryan turns to face him.

Brendon's warm, too warm in his suit in this Beverly Hills ballroom. He licks his lips so the words will slide out more easily but they stay stuck in his throat. Ryan takes his elbow, and Brendon spares a glance back to the crowd, to Spencer laughing and dancing, then turns back to see Ryan hold a finger to his lips. His fingertips are shimmering, and gold glitter has flaked off onto his cheeks, flushed a warm red; Brendon wonders if he'll ever not notice how beautiful Ryan is.

He lets himself be guided through the crowd, lets Ryan carry him through the blurring sea of people until they reach an empty alcove with ornate curling moldings and angels painted on the ceiling. Champagne swims through Brendon's veins, and he lets the momentum get them to the wall, Ryan backed up against it, a spill of leaves brushing his shoulder from a potted plant on a high shelf. 

In slow motion and shining half gold Ryan seems to be made of light, glitter melting into smears of brightness then catching each tiny point and flashing. Brendon reaches up to touch the mask, feel the sharp scratch of cheap glitter and let it remind him that Ryan's made of nothing but skin and bone and ornament, but his thumb lands on Ryan's soft cheek instead. This close to Ryan he feels weightless, like he's watching himself from a distance in a dream, but touching Ryan serves to ground him between sky and earth, painted ceiling and parquet floor. Brendon leans in close and Ryan catches his hand, drawing Brendon's focus away as Ryan's fingers push between his, shimmering fingertips stroking through the tender spaces between his knuckles until their palms meet, hands twisting close so their wrists touch too. Brendon breathes in deep and thinks of nothing but the next touch.

Brendon feels dizzy, dry-mouthed and like he might fade in and out of focus as Ryan stares at him, and he wonders if Ryan's intoxication matches his own, if he thinks Brendon's gone mad or if he's as caught up in it as Brendon is. He wants to ask, but he doesn't want to speak. Ryan blinks at him behind the mask and Brendon squeezes his hand, rubbing his thumb over Ryan's knuckles, sliding the base of his palm against Ryan's wrist as if sheer will would let their skin blend together so they could never let go. 

Ryan cups Brendon's cheek, fingertips grazing the mask. Brendon wants to look away, escape the sadness he can see in Ryan's eye, but he'd rather look at Ryan hurting than not look at him at all, and that's the difference between them.

Brendon exhales, inaudible in the swell of violins and voices, and tilts his head up just a fraction, waiting for the world to fall down around him.

Ryan kisses him instead.

Automatically Brendon's eyes slip shut, and losing that sense brings the others intensely into focus. Ryan smells like he always does, like cloves and warm smoke, and tastes like the same champagne Brendon's been drinking. The air is made of music and Brendon feels, he feels everything, the hot press of Ryan's mouth against his, lips firm but soft, the tease of his tongue against Brendon's. Brendon opens and lets him lead, slipping his hand into Ryan's open collar to get to skin, then circling his thumb over the top of Ryan's spine like he knows Ryan's always liked. He stands his ground when Ryan gets closer and their bodies press together, chest to chest, Brendon's leg pushing between Ryan's, the pressure hot but not demanding. 

They've kissed before, but somehow this still feels new. Brendon's fallen in love with Ryan hundreds of times, felt it crest and settle and rise again and again, but he's never loved this Ryan, never had the chance to fall in love with the Ryan in front of him, and he is. 

The moments between kisses get briefer, gasps of air taken and stolen away until Brendon's light-headed, grounded only by the press of Ryan's mouth to his, the offer and demand of it, blending until it feels like this is all they've ever done, that they've only ever kissed this way, in this house, on this night, surrounded by music and strangers and each other. Ryan's teeth catch and release Brendon's lower lip, soothing the sting with a slow lick, and Brendon kisses fiercely back until he's not sure which of them is holding the other up.

Through the din of the crowd and the rushing in Brendon's ears he hears his name, called over the room, feels his phone buzz in his pocket. Ryan pulls back at the feel of it, his eyes glazed as he stares at Brendon, and Brendon's sure he must look just as wrecked, mouth kiss-swollen and skin flushed. Brendon can't go yet, he can't walk away from this, and he keeps his hand tightly linked with Ryan's as he looks away from the source of the voice calling him and seeks an escape. Ryan touches his chest and points up, and Brendon follows his eyes to see an elevator door open, spilling out a few drunken revelers. 

Brendon pulls, Ryan pushes, and they stumble in, Ryan crowding Brendon to the wall and stabbing the second floor button before pressing his mouth to Brendon's again. Brendon reaches blindly for the door close button and brushes it, and the doors slip shut, cutting off the sound of his name from outside.

This, now, this, this, is all Brendon can think, all he wants to think with Ryan's body against his, Ryan's hand pressed to the small of his back and pulling him in like they were made to do this, like their mouths were made to kiss only each other. His lips are tingling, sore almost, like they're rubbing each other raw, kissing down to the bone. Brendon would let it happen, he'd kiss Ryan until they both disappeared, until the elevator doors parted and revealed nothing but gilded panels and mirrors and the ghosts of two boys holding each other like they were dancing.

He kisses Ryan harder, fierce and eager, and he feels Ryan give it all back until the upward motion halts and a bell dings and music rushes in with air and light and they break apart, split down the middle like a lightning-struck tree and stumbling back from each other. The haze clears and Brendon blinks and blinks and outside the elevator doors he sees Spencer, arms folded, and Jon and Alex - probably Alex, though Brendon's not sure with the mask - all standing there staring at them. Brendon swallows.

"Hey," Spencer says flatly.

"Hey Brendon," Jon says. Brendon tries to summon up a smile. It doesn't work. He nods instead, and Jon tilts his head at Ryan. "Ry, it's time to go. I think they figured out we crashed."

"Okay," Ryan says, his voice soft. "Hi Spence," he adds. Brendon determinedly does not look at him, but he doesn't have to in order to know that Ryan's looking down, his hands in his pockets. He always did that to hide when they shook.

"Ryan," Spencer says shortly, inclining his head in Ryan's direction. "Brendon, I think it's probably time to go. The driver's waiting."

Brendon nods and steps out of the elevator, stopping it from closing with his hand. He thinks of Spencer's arm around him all those months, Spencer being there after Ryan left, Spencer being there after Ryan left again, picking up the pieces without Brendon ever asking him to. Spencer saying that he loved Ryan, they all did, but he didn't deserve Brendon. That Ryan needed to figure his shit out, and even if he did, it probably still wouldn't be a good idea to go there again. Brendon wonders if Ryan figured his shit out. Brendon, apparently, hasn't.

Spencer puts a hand on Brendon's shoulder and guides him toward the stairs. As Brendon takes the banister, he hears Ryan and Jon start to argue behind him. Ryan sounds as miserable as Brendon feels. "You feeling okay?" Spencer asks. Brendon is not. He takes the stairs slowly, feeling alcohol-slow and kiss-stupid and like he left something of himself behind. Like he tried to leave the house without wearing any shoes, except this time he tried to leave Ryan without taking back his heart. "Too much to drink?" Spencer asks, his voice softer. 

Brendon nods, taking the easy out and leaning gratefully into Spencer. "It was stupid of me," he says. Spencer squeezes his shoulder as they step out into the dark night, the lights and sounds of the party dimming behind them. Somehow the temperate night makes the mask feel stifling, and Brendon reaches up to take it off, struggling with the knot. Spencer stills his hands and helps, carefully untangling the knot. The mask slips down Brendon's face and tumbles to the ground, ribbons fluttering and landing in a heap. Brendon's fingers and suit are dusted with gold glitter. When he tries to brush it away, it clings.

"Do you still want it?" Spencer asks, gesturing to the fallen mask.

"Leave it," Brendon says, and lets Spencer guide him into the car, and into the night.


End file.
